Dracula Rising
by ZenoNoKyuubi
Summary: 'Redo' of Heir of Dracula. Wrong BWL. Seven year old Harry Potter, born a vampire, runs away from home and stumbles upon Verona, one of Dracula's original mistresses. He is brought to Castle Dracula, where he unlocks the powers and memories of his ancestor... The mortals will tremble before Count Harold Dracula... Vampire!Godlike!Harry. M for Gore
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, all! ZenoNoKyuubi here. Because of the fact that I saw the fic Heir of Dracula to be very, very disappointing, mediocre at best, I have decided to 'redo' it, so to speak. Therefore, I now give you the first chapter of the new and improved Heir of Dracula! Don't expect any lightning fast updates, as I want to get ahead in the fic before I start posting them. I just posted this chapter because I wanted your opinions on it.**

**Before we begin, I'd just like to clarify Eric Potter's position in this fic. Harold Dracula, formerly Harry Potter, was born in '77, instead of '80, so he is three years older than Eric, who takes the position 'role' of canon!Harry. Of course, there are several differences, but for now, he will be the 'canon!Harry,' while Harold is the real BWL, who ran away from home at an early age.**

–

–**1895–**

_The venerable Count Vlad III Dracula lay in a pool of his own blood, which was soaking into the red velvet-carpeted stairs leading up to his throne, his bone-white hair splayed around his head as he coughed weakly. A wooden stake was sticking out of his chest, having pierced his un-beating heart._

"My Lord..."_ came a whispered as out of the shadows crawled a very beautiful woman with long, black hair, and a heart-shaped face, wearing a long, blood-red dress. Three more women, looking identical to the first one, only wearing dresses of different colors, one black, one green, and the last one dark blue, came crawling out of the shadows, toward the dying Dracula._

"Curse those that foul Morris..."_ the black-dressed woman said, hissing in rage. _"I wouldst tear his heart out..."

"My ladies..."_ Dracula coughed weakly, reaching up to stroke the green-dressed woman's cheek. _"My vision darkens... I fear I shall not return from this final death..."

"Master?"_ the red-dressed woman said, blinking in shock. _"What do you mean?"

"This was the final time, I fear..."_ Dracula mumbled. _"My mind and body are destroyed now, completely... But my powers and my spirit live on. You shall find me in a new incarnation... Look for me... in my heir, the boy of lightning..."

_With that, Dracula drew his final breath, slowly dissolving into dust, leaving the four identical women to cry over his ashes._

–**1994–**

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and the only man the Dark Lord Voldemort had ever feared, could not suppress a shiver that crept up his spine as he stared at the dark, imposing castle further up the path he was on.

The castle was almost as grand as Hogwarts, but not nearly as welcoming. The grounds were littered with pikes stabbed into the ground, on which hundreds of skeletons were hanging, impaled.

Never in all his hundred and thirteen years of life had Dumbledore ever imagined that he would one day wander the path leading up to the imposing and terrifying Castle Dracula, once home to Count Vlad 'Tepes' Dracula...

When Dumbledore reached the large oak ebony doors of the castle, he reached up and grabbed the thick, black iron knocker, which was hanging from the mouth of an iron dragon head bolted to the door.

He knocked three times, then waited. Was the castle abandoned, perchance? If it was, then why did the villagers in the small village further down the road speak with such fear of the Devil Spawn that lived in the castle?

Suddenly, the door slowly opened with a loud creak, and a face showed itself in the doorway. It was that of a beautiful woman, with long, black hair, and a beautiful, heart-shaped face, wearing a long, blood red silk dress. She eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

"_Yes_?" she spoke in Romanian, and Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"_Good evening, my dear lady. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore from England_," he spoke, also in Romanian.

"English?" the woman said curiously in English, but still staring suspiciously at Dumbledore. "What is an Englishman doing all the way out here, I wonder? Here to seek fame and fortune, are you?"

"No, actually, I am looking for someone," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "A boy, by the name of Harry Potter?"

If the woman was surprised to hear that name, she didn't show it. Instead, her eyes slowly drifted shut, and she took a deep breath, appearing thoughtful for a moment. Then, her eyes snapped open, and she nodded, stepping back and opening the door even further.

"My Lord will see you," she spoke, giving a small bow at the waist. Dumbledore bowed back, then stepped inside.

If the outside of the castle had been dreary, it was nothing compared to the inside. Dimly lit by torches in rusty brackets, Dumbledore could hardly even see anything in the castle, except for the long, scarlet carpet leading up a set of stairs. The entrance hall was shrouded in darkness, but the woman, leading Dumbledore up the stairs, maneuvered with an ease that Dumbledore couldn't match, tripping over a step here and there.

Up, up, up they went, up staircase after staircase, until finally, they reached a room that looked very much like a cathedral. It was long, the ceiling was so high that you couldn't see it in the dim lights coming from the torches on the walls, along with three chandeliers that were hanging from the dark ceiling by thick chains.

At the end of the hall stood a throne that was mostly shrouded in darkness, the light from the torches and chandeliers not quite enough to light it all up. Likewise, the person sitting upon the throne was also shrouded in darkness, mostly.

The only things visible on the occupant of the throne was the person's legs from the knees and down, wearing a pair of loose, black pants, and a pair of black riding boots with an intricate design carved into the leather, and the person's lower arms. The arms could be seen in the sleeves of what could only be a thick, black overcoat with gold trim and red lining, along with golden cufflinks. The hands gripping the armrests of the throne were very pale, and as Dumbledore approached, he could see longer than average nails scraping against the armrests in agitation.

"What are you doing here... old man?" came a soft, hissing voice from within the darkness, where Dumbledore believed himself to see a pair of eyes glinting like that of a wolf's in the darkness. The voice was clearly young still, and spoke with a clear Romanian accent.

"So, this is where you have been hiding all this time," Dumbledore spoke pleasantly as he looked around the throne room, blatantly ignoring the man's question.

"Hiding?" the voice asked, and Dumbledore could hear amusement in it. "What gave you the impression that I have been hiding? I have made no secret of my presence here..."

"True, your current name is rather well-known, although not many people know that you are not your ancestor, and so, you have been hiding your _true_ name... Harry..."

The hands tightly gripped the armrests, the nails digging into the stone with unnatural strength. There was a moment of silence, then, the owner of the voice leaned forward, coming out of the shadows.

He was a youthful young man, looking like he was approaching his twenties soon, but Dumbledore knew his real age of seventeen. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes a dangerous blood red, and his hair, quite unlike when he was a child, was long and flat, unlike the short mess it had once been. It framed his face as he leaned forward, and he glared dangerously at Dumbledore. As Dumbledore had suspected, he wore a thick overcoat with a high, overturned collar, wide lapels with several gold buttons on them, a white shirt, blood red waistcoat, and a white cravat. He also wore a black cloak with red lining and a high, tattered collar.

"Don't you dare call me that! _Eu sunt Dracula_ (I am Dracula)!"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose at the hatred he showed for his birth name, and it seemed that Harold looked a bit embarrassed about the outburst, as he took a deep breath, then leaned back into the shadows again. His eyes closed, then opened after a moment, glinting in the darkness.

"Why are you here, old man?"

"I am unsure if you have heard or not, Harold," Dumbledore said, using Harold's new name of Harold Dracula, "but Lord Voldemort, I am sure you remember him, is gathering power."

"I have not heard, although I can safely say that I have felt it," Harold spoke softly. "One would have to be a fool not to feel the darkness that is rising in the British Isles."

"Yes, well, it would seem that Voldemort needs your brother for something. Something that I believe will help him return to corporeal form."

Harold didn't respond, but Dumbledore had seen his nails once more scrape against the armrest of his throne in agitation at the mention of his brother, Eric Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

"We need your help, Harold," Dumbledore continued, getting rewarded with a cold, high laugh. "It is time you stopped hiding from the rest of the world in this dark castle of yours."

Again, Dumbledore could tell that he had upset Harold, for once more his nails dug into the armrests of the throne.

"Hiding? _Hiding_?!" Harold spat, sounding quite enraged. "I have seen more darkness than your puny mortal mind could even dare to comprehend and it has given me quite a distaste for petty human squabbles."

"It is true, then? You have shed your humanity?"

"I was born this way... You were merely too blind to see it... Too busy babying my little brother, no doubt..."

"Nonetheless, hiding _is_ what you have been doing, Harold. What else would you call this?" Dumbledore asked as he slowly spun, gesturing for the dark throne room. "Skulking in the darkness, paying no attention to the outside world. Do you not see that it isn't..." Dumbledore trailed off when he turned to face Harold again, only to see that the throne was empty.

"Hiding? Like a coward?" came Harold's voice from behind him, making him spin around, only to see no one. "Believe me, old man... If I wanted to hide, you would never have found me... Do not delude yourself by thinking that it was your superior mind that allowed you to find me... It was merely an act of kindness on my part..."

Harold's voice jumped from place to place in the darkness, not allowing Dumbledore to find him. Dumbledore couldn't help feeling a shiver of fear crawl up his spine. Perhaps he should have avoided insulting Harold's pride by claiming that he was hiding.

Before Dumbledore could even register what had happened, he felt a hand with long nails digging into his throat, and an arm wrapping around him from behind.

"You have overstayed your welcome..." Harold hissed from behind, then opened his mouth, showing sharp fangs, which were ready to pierce his jugular. Just as Harold made to bite him, Dumbledore disappeared with a crack like a gunshot, reappearing by the doors to the throne room.

"You would bite me, Harold?" Dumbledore asked, his face set in an expression of deep disappointment.

"I see no reason not to," Harold said softly as he turned to face Dumbledore.

"Peculiar, these wards of yours," Dumbledore said conversationally as he took out his wand. "You cannot apparate into the castle, but once you are inside the wards, you can apparate to any place inside them?"

"It makes moving around the castle much easier," Harold admitted, staring coldly at Dumbledore. "Now, I believe I told you that you overstayed your welcome. Leave."

"I am afraid I cannot do that, Harold. We need your help in the coming war against Voldemort," Dumbledore spoke softly, still gazing at Harold unflinchingly, something that not many had the courage to do.

"What do I care about the wars of men?" Harold asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. "I am vampyr, Nosferatu, not a human."

"But surely you must still hold some manner of affection for human life?" Dumbledore insisted. "Do you not care that hundreds, thousands of people might die?"

"Oh, please... You're human. You are born, you grow, you breed, and then, inevitably, you die," Harold said, waving him off. "What do I care if someone decides it should happen sooner, rather than later?"

"I know that Voldemort will come to you to try to recruit you, seeing as you have the allegiance of the vampire race," Dumbledore said, not holstering his wand. "I cannot in good conscience leave here knowing that you may join him simply to spite your family."

"Family..." Harold spoke, as if tasting the word on his tongue. "I do not believe I have had a family since I was three years old," he said as he turned his back on Dumbledore. "Leave now, before you invoke my wrath..."

"I cannot do that, Harold," Dumbledore said solemnly. "I am afraid that this is one of those cases where you are either with us, or against us, and if you are not with us, I will be forced to stop you."

Harold's head tilted so that he was obviously looking down at the ground. Then, a cold chuckle was heard. The chuckle sent another shiver up Dumbledore's spine, which only intensified when Harold threw his head back and laughed a high, cold laugh so that the throne room rang with it.

"And you believe that you have what it takes to kill me?" Harold asked as he turned to look at Dumbledore again. "The great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian... Dumbledore..."

"I will do what I can," Dumbledore said simply, ready to start casting spells at a moment's notice. "Please, Harold..."

Harold was quiet. He was staring intently into Dumbledore's eyes with a gaze that felt as though he was peering into his soul. Despite the fact that Dumbledore had his Occlumency shields up, it was still a very penetrating gaze.

"What do you offer?" the young Count Dracula asked finally, making Dumbledore blink.

"Pardon?"

"You cannot expect to have my cooperation without giving anything in return," Harold said. "What do you offer me, in exchange for my help?"

"I do not know. What do you want?"

"Vampires, but especially the Dracul, have a right to be proud. Yet you humans treat us as filth, as lesser beings. True, the vampires of today are little more than a magically transmitted disease, but they are still above you humans. I want better rights for my people," Harold said, and Dumbledore immediately nodded.

"I shall see to it."

"Can you assure me that we will be treated better?" Harold asked, his eyes narrowing. "You are not just saying that to get me on your side? For know this, if you do not follow through, you will face my wrath..."

"I can ensure that it happens."

Harold scrutinized Dumbledore for a while longer. Then, he spun around and walked back to his throne, sitting down and once more getting enveloped by the darkness.

"I will need to think about this... Leave me. It would be safest for you to apparate straight out of here to the edge of the wards. Although I am capable of sentient thought and can control myself, the same cannot be said for the other occupants of this castle."

Dumbledore saw the glinting eyes in the darkness disappear, suggesting that he had closed them, and he nodded. Then, he turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack like a gunshot.

–

With a crack, Dumbledore appeared outside the wards of Potter Manor near Chichester, and made his way up the dirt path to the manor, sighing to himself. So... the rumors were true... Lily Potter was distantly related to Vlad Tepes, and Harold's vampire blood had awoken...

The boy had said he was born that way. How could Dumbledore have missed that? Dumbledore had spent a lot of time in Potter Manor after that dreadful night when Voldemort attacked the one-year old Eric Potter and four-year old Harry, where the Killing Curse rebounded on Voldemort and tore his spirit from his body.

It was true, what Harold had said, Dumbledore had spent most, if not all, his time training and paying attention to Eric. It left a feeling of shame in his body when he realized that he had spent so much time with Eric that he had completely neglected Harry, just like Lily and James had done. To not even register the pale skin or red eyes... It was a huge blunder on Dumbledore's part.

In any case, they only had themselves to blame. Had they not spent so much time ignoring Harry, the boy would never have run away when he was seven, he never would have somehow reached Castle Dracula, and he would never have become the terrifying Count Harold Dracula that he was today...

Sighing deeply, Dumbledore reached the front door of the manor and raised his hand, knocking three times.

Within moments, the door opened, revealing none other than Lily Potter, who smiled brightly upon seeing him. Although Lily had been distraught when Harry had run away, she had eventually recovered, and was now very much like her old self, provided that one didn't mention Harry, reminding her of her failure as a mother.

"Oh, Albus! I heard from Minerva that you might pop in today. She said you would bring news about You-Know-Who."

"And so I shall, Lily," Dumbledore said, smiling softly as the woman gestured for him to enter. He had to admit, after spending time in Castle Dracula, Potter Manor was much, much cozier than usual. "Is James here?"

"Of course. We were about to sit down and have dinner soon. Would you like some, Albus?"

"Oh, no, I would not wish to be a bother," Dumbledore said jovially. "I merely came to relay some news to you, and then I shall be off."

Lily nodded and led Dumbledore through the manor, into the sitting room, where they found James and Eric Potter, lazying about. Eric was lying on the sofa, reading a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and James was sitting in an armchair, snoozing peacefully. He must have had a busy day in the Ministry.

"Well, now that we are all gathered, it is time I informed you three where I have been today," Dumbledore spoke up, catching James and Eric's attention. Eric sat up and put away the book, while James blinked his eyes open and sat up straighter.

"Please, sit down, Albus," Lily said as she gestured for the other armchair in the room, while she sat down next to Eric. Once Dumbledore had sat down, he gazed sadly at them all.

"As you all know, I have read between the lines of the articles in the Daily Prophet, and have seen the signs of Voldemort getting stronger. For that reason, I have already started trying to gain the allegiance of the various magical races spread throughout the world, in case of a war. Today, I tried to enlist the vampires. For that reason, I traveled to Transylvania, to Castle Dracula."

Dumbledore saw that the three were hanging onto his every word, and he heaved a great sigh.

"I am sure you are wondering why I felt compelled to bring you this information? It came to a surprise to me when I entered Castle Dracula, and came upon a boy I have not seen for ten years. A certain pale-skinned, red-eyed boy, who has now taken the title of Count, and the name Harold Dracula. I am sure," Dumbledore added, seeing the Potters go wide-eyed, "that you know who I am talking about?"

"Y-You mean... You met Harry?" Lily asked hesitantly, as though she wasn't sure whether to believe Dumbledore or not. "Our Harry?"

"He prefers Harold nowadays," Dumbledore said, but he may as well have said nothing at all, as the Potters were now looking at each other in shock, ignoring him.

"We have to go to him!" Eric said immediately. "We need to bring him back!"

"We have to let him know we're sorry," James agreed, nodding.

"That would be ill-advised," Dumbledore spoke up, before they could make any plans to go to Transylvania. "Harold has been living these past ten years being reminded of his treatment at your hands. He has become bitter and resentful. You forcing your way into his life would only serve to cause more harm than good."

"What are we supposed to do, then?" a distraught Lily demanded. "How can we apologize if we can't meet him?"

"Let him come to you," Dumbledore said softly. "With luck, he will accept my offer, and come to meet me. If he does, I may be able to convince him to meet with you all. We just need to warm him up to the idea first."

Meanwhile, in the Carpathian Mountains, near the Borgo Pass, at Castle Dracula, Count Harold Dracula stood on a balcony near the top of the castle, looking over the impaled skeletons on the grounds. Although he was seventeen years old, he, admittedly, looked closer to twenty. He was currently contemplating Dumbledore's visit.

It had been a blatant lie, wanting better rights for his people. The magical vampires of today were abominations, and he could care less about them. He cared only for true vampires. But, it would have looked suspicious if he agreed to help Dumbledore without asking for something in return.

Ever since Harold was found by Verona and brought to Castle Dracula when he was eight, he had been planning. Unlocking Vlad's memories along with his powers, Harold had developed a hatred toward humans. To him, they were nothing but food, unworthy of standing at his side like an equal. They were pathetic. As he said, they served no purpose. They were born only to grow and breed, before dying. It was a pathetic existence, and they should be stamped out, if not for the fact that they were Harold's food source.

Cattle, then. They deserved to be nothing more than cattle.

Harold turned around, to find his ancestor's mistresses, the quadruplets, standing on the balcony with him. Verona, wearing a blood-red dress, Aleera, wearing a blue, Victorian-era dress, Marishka, wearing a very low-cut, black dress that stopped mid-thigh, and finally Eleesia, who wore a very beautiful green dress.

"_The time is drawing near, much earlier than I had planned, but this is an opportunity I cannot pass up on,"_ he spoke to the women, who all nodded.

"_The time has come, Master,"_ Verona said with a smirk. _"The war-like days of the past are returning. I sense bloodshed is imminent."_

"_What side will you choose, Master?"_ Marishka asked curiously.

"_Side?"_ Harold asked, chuckling. _"No side but my own, of course,"_ he said as he turned to look over the grounds again. _"Voldemort will live to regret the day he ever decided to go to Godric's Hollow, and the Light will forever regret putting my brother on his pedestal..."_

–

September arrived, and Dumbledore was very disappointed when he started the school year without having heard from Harold. He had many times had to go to Potter Manor to prevent the Potters from going to Transylvania, as he believed that Harold might react violently to any unwanted visitors.

Dumbledore was starting to lose hope when October rolled in. He hadn't heard a word from Harold, and when he went to Transylvania, he found that what Harold had said about hiding was true. When Dumbledore reached the spot where the castle should have been, he saw nothing, and before he knew it, he had turned back and disapparated. It wasn't until he was sitting, dazed, in his office that he realized that he hadn't actually wanted to leave.

And now, on October thirty-first, Dumbledore was sitting at the Head Table with the rest of the teachers, along with the Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff, along with Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch from the Ministry. Today was the day when the Goblet of Fire was to select the three Champions to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. For some reason, Dumbledore couldn't help but get a bad feeling from all this...

Now, the gold plates had returned to their original spotless state, and Dumbledore rose to his feet, which cause the noise that had picked up to die away.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announced. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the staff table, "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Dumbledore took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it. At once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes.

Dumbledore waited patiently, and then, the flames inside the goblet turned red. Sparks began to fly from it, and the next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it to gasps from the whole room.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall as Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore. He turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Professor Karkaroff boomed, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore said once he'd caught the parchment and read it, "is Fleur Delacour!"

As the Great Hall erupted in cheers and applause, Dumbledore watched as Fleur rose from her seat at the Ravenclaw table, and had to admit that the rest of the Beauxbatons students overreacted a bit. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement that you could almost taste it. Dumbledore understood why. The Hogwarts Champion was next...

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more. Sparks showered out of it. The tongue of flame shot high in the air, and from its tip, Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

The cheering became the loudest yet, in no small part thanks to the Hufflepuff table. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the Head Table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"

But Dumbledore stopped speaking as soon as he noticed that the Goblet of Fire had turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then, Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out, "Eric Potter."

–

**Well, there you have it, the first chapter! I think I'm doing Harold Dracula justice in this one, having him be truly evil, instead of whatever I tried to have him act like in Heir of Dracula. In any case, please leave a review, let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, all! ZenoNoKyuubi here with a new chapter for you! I was surprised at how fast I actually managed to write this. I thought it'd take much longer! Well, enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review on your way out!**

–

Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape, entered the chamber where the champions were, including Eric Potter.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur cried at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Dumbledore almost, _almost_, smiled when he saw Eric bristle at being called a little boy. They boy had always had a hot temper when it came to name-calling.

Madame Maxime drew herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she asked imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," Professor Karkaroff said. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "_Two_ Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions, or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

"_C'est impossible_," Madame Maxime said, her enormous hand with its many superb opals resting on Fleur's shoulder. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Snape said softly. His eyes were alight with malice, and Dumbledore had to suppress a sigh. For so long, he had been trying to get Severus to get over his hatred for James Potter, but it would seem that that was not going to happen. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here-"

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly, a way to warn Snape not to say anything else. It worked, as Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently at Eric.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was looking down at Eric, who looked right back at him. A slight touch of Legilimency allowed Dumbledore to find out whether Eric was telling the truth or not when answering his questions.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Eric?" he asked calmly.

"No," Eric said immediately, shaking his head.

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring Snape, who had given off a soft noise of impatient disbelief when Eric had answered.

"No," Eric insisted.

"Ah, but of course, 'e is lying!" Madame Maxime cried, and Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

"He could not have crossed the Age Line," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that..."

"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," Madame Maxime said, shrugging.

Dumbledore was about to answer, but just then, a cold chuckle was heard. The chuckle seemed to come from everywhere around them. Then, a footstep was heard from the back of the room, and they all turned to see a leg coming out of the wall, a leg wearing a very beautiful riding boot in black leather. The body of Count Harold Dracula soon followed the leg through the wall, and he was chuckling still, a cruel smirk on his face as his cold, red eyes looked over them all.

"Look at all you miserable humans," Harold said, gesturing for them all, "squabbling like a coop of starved chickens over the last grain of corn. If I were another type of man I might pity you. Fortunately for you, it would seem that I am _not_ another type of man."

"Why is it that we are fortunate?" Karkaroff asked, eyeing Harold suspiciously.

"It is simple. Any creature pathetic enough to earn my pity is put out of its misery with extreme prejudice," Harold said, still that cruel smile on his face. "It saves them from the continuation of that miserable disease you mortals call 'age.'"

"Age, Harold?" Dumbledore repeated, looking at Harold with a small amount of disappointment, while Eric was staring, open-mouthed, at the young Count. "Surely it is not so bad. Being immortal would be so much worse. To see all you love grow old and die around you."

"That would require that I have something to love, Dumbledore. I much prefer to delve into pits of lust," Harold said, walking with soft footsteps toward Fleur, leaning closer and staring deeply into her eyes, "finding the purest, cleanest maiden and showing her the greatest forms of debauchery that we might engage in."

A furious blush sprang up on Fleur's face at the smirk on Harold's face as he leaned even closer and took in her scent. Karkaroff seemed to have had enough of Harold's interference with the conversation.

"Who are you?" he demanded angrily.

"Oh, forgive me," Harold said, still smirking as he pulled away from Fleur, taking a few steps back. "I am so well-known in my home that I sometimes forget to introduce myself. I am Count Harold Dracula," he introduced himself, giving a bow at his waist.

Dumbledore immediately saw which of the people there had heard of the name Dracula before. Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Professor McGonagall, and Snape all stiffened, their eyes widening.

"I came to speak to you, Dumbledore," Harold said, turning to look at Dumbledore. "However, it would seem you are busy. I shall wait for you in your office."

"Please do, Harold," Dumbledore said, nodding. Harold glanced at Eric once in disdain, and then turned, walking straight through the wall again.

After everything was settled, and Dumbledore had sent the students off and had a nightcap with Bagman, he entered his office, to find Harold there waiting for him, sitting in a comfortable leather chair in front of Dumbledore's desk that he was certain had not been there when he left his office that morning.

"I take it, Harold, that you have come to a decision regarding my offer?" Dumbledore asked, announcing his presence as he walked around his desk to sit down in his own chair. Harold, who had been looking around in Dumbledore's office with a small amount of interest, looked to Dumbledore and nodded, one leg crossed over the other, his hands interlaced in his lap.

"I have," he said. "I have decided to give you my assistance in the upcoming war, should it come to that. In return, you _will_ arrange better rights for my people."

"Certainly," Dumbledore said with a nod. "And what about the Potters?"

"What about them?"

"They have all missed you terribly," Dumbledore said sadly. "They were distraught when you left, and I have been forced to prevent them from seeking you out no less than seven times since I visited you two months ago."

"So... _now_ I am worthy of their attention?"

"You always were, Harold. When you ran away, and they realized their mistake... I honestly did not think that Lily would be able to bring herself back from the depression she fell into. She believed that she had failed as a mother, and sometimes even contemplated suicide."

"Am I supposed to care?" Harold asked, looking bored.

"You should care, Harold. They are your family."

"I have a family. They found me when I was cold and alone, they took me in, brought me to what would become my home, and gave me the warmth of companionship when I desperately needed it. The Potters did none of those things for me."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but just then, Harold stood up, the chair vanishing as he gave Dumbledore a cold look.

"Now, it is late, and I have business to attend to tomorrow. I think I shall go home and... _rest_."

With that, Harold turned and walked straight through the wall of Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore couldn't suppress the shiver that went up his spine at Harold's parting statement. The word 'rest' had sounded rather ominous...

–

Harold stepped out of one of the many fireplaces in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. His eyes immediately landed on the person he came to see, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, who had obviously been waiting for him. He was a portly man wearing a horrible, bottle-green suit, a pinstriped cloak, and a lime-green bowler hat. The man had a jovial smile on his face, and he walked up to Harold, extending his hand.

"Count Dracula! How good to see you!"

"It is good to see you too, Minister. I trust my visit here isn't a nuisance?" Harold asked, raising an elegant eyebrow as he shook Fudge's hand.

"Of course not, of course not," Fudge said as he led Harold over to one of the lifts. They stepped inside, and Fudge pushed a button, causing the doors to close. However, before they closed completely, a hand was jammed between the doors, forcing them to open again, and in stepped a man Harold easily recognized. His very own Godfather, Lord Sirius Orion Black.

"Minister," Sirius said with a nod of greeting as he stepped into the lift. His gaze landed on Harold, and his jaw almost dropped. However, he quickly got over his shock, extending his hand. "Count Dracula."

"Lord Black," Harold greeted coldly as he shook Sirius's hand, eyeing him with disdain. Sirius looked like he barely suppressed a flinch at the coldness of Harold's tone.

An awkward silence fell over the three. Well, awkward for Sirius. Harold was quite indifferent to Sirius, while Fudge was oblivious to the change in atmosphere in the lift.

The lift stopped, and a woman's soft, serene voice was heard. "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

"This, uh, this is my floor," Sirius said, clearing his throat. He looked a bit awkward, like he wanted to say something else, but finally decided on merely nodding to Harold, then to Fudge, before getting off the lift.

The two remaining in the lift stood in silence as it jangled and banged its way down again. Apparently, Fudge didn't want to comment on the fact that Harold was so cold toward Sirius. Either that, or he just hadn't noticed. The man seemed like a simpleton, so Harold suspected it was the latter.

The lift stopped once more, and the voice called out, "Level One, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."

They stepped out of the lift, and walked through the thickly carpeted corridor towards the Minister's office in silence. They stepped into the office, which was lush, to say the least. Fudge had spared no expenses when it came to decorating his office, expensive paintings hanging on the wall, a large, finely crafted ebony desk, with a big, luscious chair, with puffy silk cushions, and in front of the desk were two rather comfortable-looking, brown leather chairs.

"Please, sit down," Fudge said as he walked around the desk to sit down in his chair, while gesturing for one of the leather chairs. Harold sat down, and noted that the chair was, in fact, very comfortable.

"Now, I hate to jump straight to business," Harold said as he leaned forward, leaning his elbows against his knees and interlacing his fingers. "However, I wish to discuss my purchase of the Wallace land in Scotland."

"I thought you had already purchased it?" Fudge said, furrowing his brow in confusion. Harold nodded.

"That is true, but you may or may not already know that I happen to own a rather large collection of magical creatures, most, if not all, of which are very dangerous. I understand that I need the permission of the Ministry of Magic to house these creatures on my lands?"

"That is true," Fudge said, leaning back in his chair. "It wouldn't be wise to allow people to import dangerous creatures into the country... It's very dangerous..."

Fudge was about to speak again, but before he could blink, Harold had already shot to his feet and leaned over the desk to press his index finger against the bridge of Fudge's nose, staring intently into his eyes.

"Come now, Minister..." he spoke softly. "Surely, you can approve of such a little thing. I urge you to approve of the moving of Castle Dracula to the Wallace lands, and to approve of the importation of the many magical creatures bound to the castle..."

Fudge's eyes became glazed and unfocused as Harold stared at him.

"Everything is fine, Minister," Harold continued.

"Everything is... fine..." Fudge parroted numbly.

"I brought the form requesting the importation of the creatures. They are all listed here," Harold said, reaching into his overcoat with his free hand, taking out a roll of parchment and setting it down on the desk. "You will sign it."

"I will... sign it..." Fudge mumbled, and without looking away from Harold's eyes, he unrolled the parchment and grabbed a self-inking quill, scribbling his signature onto the parchment.

"Thank you, Minister," Harold said as he moved his hand away from Fudge's face, reaching down and picking up the parchment, rolling it up and stuffing it into his coat again. Fudge blinked, his eyes becoming focused again.

"Yes, well, like I said, I am sure you will be perfectly capable of handling the creatures," he said, nodding, as though they had just had a long conversation where Harold convinced him to allow him to bring the creatures.

"Now, Minister, something else, not business, but still fairly important," Harold said, crossing one leg over the other, his elbows against the armrests of the chair, and his fingers steepled in front of him. "I have heard about the Triwizard Tournament taking place at Hogwarts this year. I would very much like to see it, but I have found myself lacking an invitation."

"Well, that's easily rectified, Count Dracula," Fudge said with a wide smile on his face. "I will merely have to sign you up as a spectator, and that'll do it."

"I thank you, Minister," Harold said with a smirk, nodding. "Now, another thing. I would like to explore the castle at my leisure, seeing as the people of Hogwarts and I are now neighbors. Can you arrange that for me?"

"Now _that_ might be a bit tricky..." Fudge said, his smile disappearing in an instant. "You see, Dumbledore has this thing against Ministry interference with his school, and-"

"Minister," Harold said, locking eyes with Fudge again. Immediately, Fudge's eyes became glazed and unfocused again. "I am sure that you can arrange this for me. I do so wish to explore that castle."

"I will ensure that you have visitor's rights..." Fudge mumbled in a monotone voice.

"Splendid, Minister Fudge," Harold said, getting to his feet and breaking eye contact, and so breaking the hypnotic connection he had with the Minister, who blinked. "Well then, I suppose it is time for me to take my leave."

"Already?" Fudge asked, getting to his feet as well, looking a bit dazed still.

"You are a busy man, Minister. I would not want to be the cause for you falling behind on your work. Good day, Minister Fudge."

"Good day, Count Dracula."

–

Castle Dracula truly was an intimidating sight, even from a distance. Just overnight, the castle had appeared in the former Wallace land, which Dumbledore learned had been purchased by Harold about a week ago. How the castle had appeared like that, Dumbledore didn't know.

As he stood by the window in his office, staring at the imposing, black castle in the distance, he couldn't help but wonder if his decision to recruit Harold's help had been the right thing to do. There was no mistaking the power in that boy. He was an amazing creature, Dumbledore had to admit.

However, the power in that boy was a dark power, very dark. If used for the right reasons, it could be overlooked, but Dumbledore wasn't sure if he could actually get Harold to use them for the right reason. The boy was bitter, and resentful. He held no real love for humans anymore. When he was a boy, Dumbledore, on the rare occasion when he had paid attention to him, had noticed that he held great love for his family, but over the years after the attack by Voldemort, that love had slowly been disappearing, and he finally couldn't take it anymore and ran away.

Young Harold Dracula held so much hatred in him. It was unhealthy. Dumbledore decided to endeavor to rid the young Count of his hatred and anger, and to revive his affection for humans. Dumbledore hoped beyond hope that part of the reason why Harold had accepted the deal was because some small part of him still longed for the love of his family.

Regardless, the thing that worried Dumbledore the most was the letter he had received from Cornelius Fudge, decreeing that Count Harold Dracula had full visitor's rights when it came to Hogwarts, and he was allowed to come and go as he pleased. Dumbledore needed the boy's help, but until he was sure of Harold's intentions, he felt very uneasy at the thought of Harold roaming the castle freely, amongst the students...

Alright, that was probably in second place when it came to what worried him the most. What worried him the most was their deal, and what might happen if he wasn't actually able to follow through on his end of the deal. What if he couldn't get the vampires more rights? Well, technically, Harold had never specified just how many more rights the vampires should get, so Dumbledore could technically just campaign for some little thing, and that would be him following through on his end...

But now, not only had he Harold to worry about, he also had Eric to worry about. Not many things happened these days without Dumbledore knowing about it, or figuring out how it happened, but he had to admit that he was stumped when it came to this. He had no idea who could have put Eric's name in the Goblet of Fire. He knew the _how_, but not the _who_.

Dumbledore had to wonder, as he stared at Castle Dracula in the distance, if he would actually be able to hold back the coming storm, and if, by involving Harold, he hadn't just added fuel to the fire...

Speaking of Eric, Dumbledore was actually waiting for Lily and James Potter at the moment. They had both been very upset to hear that Eric had been entered into the Triwizard Tournament, and were coming to Dumbledore's office, no doubt to give him a right proper scolding for not taking better precautions against underage wizards being entered. He deserved it, he supposed. It had been a rather large blunder, something that seemed to happen more and more often as the years passed.

Maybe he really was getting a bit too old for this?

Before Dumbledore could contemplate that question further, he heard a cold chuckle in his office, and he looked over his shoulder to see Harold phasing through the wall, still that cold smile on his face.

"Albus Dumbledore... You look weary," he spoke with obvious amusement in his voice. "Shouldering the burdens of the world will do nothing but tear at your soul. And if your soul is torn, then your blood will become bland."

"Did you come here for a reason, Harold?" Dumbledore asked, taking the comments in good humor. "Or did you merely come here to poke fun at an old man?"

"Is that not reason enough?" Harold asked, smirking. "In any case, I merely came to see if you have heard from Minister Fudge yet. I understand that he was going to send you a letter?"

"He has," Dumbledore said as he turned toward Harold and gestured for the parchment on his desk. "How, exactly, did you convince Cornelius to grant you full visitor's rights?"

"It was, admittedly, surprisingly easy," Harold confessed with a chuckle. "I merely told the man what he wanted to hear, and I had him eating out of my hand. You had best hope, with such an easy-to-manipulate man in the Minister's seat, that there are no Death Eaters close to him, or the war might end before it even starts."

Dumbledore decided not to answer that. He didn't want to get into a verbal sparring match with Harold at the moment. Instead, he just turned toward the window once more, staring at Castle Dracula in the distance.

"I am curious, Harold... How did you get Castle Dracula moved here overnight?"

"How else, but magic?" Harold said simply. "The castle is bound to me. If I wish it to move, it will move."

"Is it really that simple?" Dumbledore asked, turning to look at Harold again.

"In essence."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, studying Harold's face. He saw something in his expression, and said, "Something amuses you." It wasn't a question.

"Indeed."

"May I ask what that is?"

"Oh, I am merely looking forward to watching this very interesting Triwizard Tournament," Harold remarked, a cruel smile on his face. "It will be very amusing to see how the great and powerful Eric Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, will do against people three years older than him."

"His misfortune amuses you?" Dumbledore asked, making his disappointment evident on his face. "Are you that cruel, Harold?"

"I am not cruel to anyone who does not deserve it," Harold said simply.

"Eric has done nothing to earn your spite."

Harold lost his smile, and he gave Dumbledore a very cold look that sent yet another shiver up his spine.

"That's exactly what he did, Dumbledore. He did nothing. He never so much as looked at me as we were growing up. All he did was grab our parents' attention and joining them in ignoring me."

"You cannot blame him for doing something when he was no more than four years old, Harold..."

"Watch me."

"Do you believe in fate, Harold?"

"What's this?" Harold asked, scoffing in amusement. "What are you trying to say now, old man?"

"Could it not be so that this whole thing, my coming to you, you accepting my deal, could have been orchestrated by whatever powers are out there to help you reconnect with your family?" Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow. Seeing Harold's brow furrowed, he continued, "Surely, you had no real reason to accept the deal? Surely, you felt compelled for some reason to accept?"

"Fate," Harold spoke, once more tasting the word on his tongue, a small smile appearing on his face. "Nothing I have seen yet has ever showed me that fate is real. Well, I suppose you could say that it is real. However, our fate is what we make it."

"Can you not find it in your heart to at least try to forgive the Potters for their errors?" Dumbledore insisted. He needed Harold to find humanity, and the love of his real family would help him with that. "Please, Harold... Try to feel..."

Harold didn't have time to answer, as just then, there was a knock upon Dumbledore's door. At his urging, the door opened, and in stepped a very frustrated Lily Potter, followed quickly by a very angry-looking James Potter. They both stopped, however, and their frustration and anger bled away from their faces to be replaced with shock and surprise when they saw who was in the office with Dumbledore.

"Harry..." Lily whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at her firstborn, who gave her a look so cold that she couldn't suppress a flinch.

"I shall forgive you only once, but call me Harry again, and you will live to regret it," Harold spoke. "My name is Harold Dracula. You had best remember it." James opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Harold turned to look at Dumbledore. "It would seem that you have visitors, Dumbledore. I shall return another time."

"Can you not stay?" Dumbledore asked, almost pleading, as Harold turned toward the wall and made to walk off.

"I see no reason to," Harold said coldly.

"Harold, please..." James whispered, thankfully using Harold's new name, instead of his old one. Dumbledore feared what might have happened if he insisted on using Harold's birth name.

Harold froze for a moment, seemingly pondering the proper course of action. Then, he started walking toward the wall.

"_Sa fiti cuminti. Ne vom întâlni din nou_."

With that, Harold phased through the wall, much to the shock of the Potters.

"Harold, wait!" Lily called fruitlessly. Both Potters looked to Dumbledore, who had a small smile on his face. "Albus?"

"Do not despair, Lily, I am certain you will get another chance to speak to Harold," Dumbledore assured them. Seeing their doubtful looks, he continued, "That parting statement was Romanian. It meant 'Fare thee well. We will meet again.'"

–

Harold Dracula sat down in his throne in Castle Dracula and sank back into the shadows, his eyes drifting shut. He was looking over the plans he had made once more, searching for any flaws, and preparing for any eventuality. It wouldn't do for his plans to crumble simply because something unexpected popped up, after all.

If he'd say so himself, that hesitance in Dumbledore's office was a stroke of brilliance, coupled with his parting statement. No doubt, Dumbledore now believed that somewhere deep down, Harold wanted to reconnect with his family. This would make the old man more open to him, more willing to involve him, so as to put him into situations where he'd meet his parents and brother.

"You are plotting, Master," came a voice from by the doors. Even though the quadruplets sounded almost exactly alike, Harold had long since learned to tell the difference between their voices. Marishka was the easiest, as she spoke in a very Shakespearian fashion. Verona spoke with a hint of coldness to her voice, which she wasn't able to completely hide, even when talking to Harold. Aleera spoke with this taunting, lustful tone, and Eleesia's voice had three lifetimes worth of violent tendencies hidden in it. It was Verona who had spoken.

"Am I that obvious?" Harold asked, opening his eyes to see the quadruplet wearing Verona's telltale blood red dress.

"Only to those who know you, Master," Verona said with a smirk, approaching his throne. "Or rather, only to us. After all, a mother can instinctively know when her son is plotting some manner of mischief."

"Then should I be worried around Lily Potter?" Harold asked, smirking when he saw Verona's nose wrinkle in disgust.

"That woman hasn't been your mother for thirteen years," she proclaimed.

"Very true. And yes, I am, as you said, plotting," Harold confessed. "I have to account for every possibility. I want nothing to go wrong."

"How is the plan going, by the way?" Verona asked, looking a bit curious.

"It is going perfectly so far. I have managed to gain the friendship of the Minister of Magic, not that that was very hard, and I have managed to subtly convince Dumbledore that somewhere deep down inside, I am just a lost little boy who wishes to reconnect with my family. Not only that, but I have also gotten full visitor's rights to Hogwarts."

"Sounds like everything is going according to plan. Do you wish for me to send Aleera out on her assignment?"

"Do so. And make sure to stress how important it is that she completes it."

"Yes, Master," Verona said, giving a deep bow at the waist, before spinning around and leaving the throne room, the doors creaking shut behind her.

Now left alone, Harold's eyes drifted shut again, and images flashed before his mind's eye. They were memories, memories of Dracula's early days as Vlad the Impaler. Old battlefields flashed before his eyes, thousands of corpses impaled on pikes as far as the eye could see.

Those days were returning, Harold could feel it. He could sense the coming storm, and knew that he would be at the very center of it. He couldn't help himself. He laughed.

In the darkness of Harold's throne room, any spectator, even Lord Voldemort, would have been unable to suppress a shiver up their spine when Harold started laughing a cold, high, cruel laugh that reverberated through the throne room, as though twenty Harolds were standing in there, laughing as well.

Once he had calmed down from his laughter, Harold was still chuckling softly as his eyes slowly opened, glinting like a wolf's in the darkness.

"Let the games begin..."

–

**Well, there you have it, chapter two! What do you all think?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, all! ZenoNoKyuubi here with a new chapter for you! I was surprised at how fast I actually managed to write this as well. Like with the last chapter, I thought it'd take much longer! Well, enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review on your way out!**

–

Aleera was by far the easiest of the quadruplets to figure out. Her personality was ridiculously easy to understand. Lust. Her whole being was considered by some to be the very embodiment of the feeling. She adored all forms of debauchery, she loved wearing as little as possible, and enjoyed watching people fall to their darker instinct, their lust most importantly. Watching people giving into their lust, to Aleera, was almost as enjoyable as the very act itself.

Aleera had been molded by her first Master to actually _be_ the very embodiment of lust. As a result of this, she craved it, and could hardly even function without it, which was the biggest reason for her sharing a bedroom with her sisters through the years when the quadruplets were without a Master.

As soon as Verona had brought the new Count Dracula to the castle, Aleera had almost squealed with joy at the sight of a male, even though he was no older than eight years old. Master Vlad's memories had not yet been unlocked at that point, and so she had taken it upon herself to teach the young Master about sex. The Master would soon learn, with the memories that came with time, that the verbal portions of the lessons had been plagiarized from Master Vlad's lessons with her.

She had been very pleased to find out that the young Master was a natural in the art, and even more so when he aced the practical portions of the lessons.

Despite her love for sex, Aleera couldn't help but feel that her Master had somewhat ruined the experience for her. She still loved it, she still greatly enjoyed having sex. She couldn't help, however, but notice that none of her partners were as skilled as her Master, not nearly as considerate or thoughtful, and this bothered her, which was why she almost always sought out her Master when she had an itch that needed scratching. The only times she went to someone else was when the Master was busy.

This man, for instance... Aleera couldn't suppress a giggle at how impatient the hands touching her were, squeezing, rubbing, and pinching with the fervor of a man who hasn't felt a woman's touch for ages, which she knew wasn't the case here.

This had been so easy, almost disappointingly so. A smile, showing some skin, and a bit of well-timed hypnotism, and she had the man eating right out of her hand.

One of the man's hands slipped under her dress, and she could hear the man's heart start beating even faster when he realized that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Calm down, darling," she whispered, bringing her hand down to stop him from what he had been planning. He had pulled his hand back, and was no doubt going to surprise her by suddenly shoving his fingers inside her. Aleera loved most all sexual acts, but even she had to admit that when men did that, it was incredibly unpleasant, not pleasantly surprising like the men thought.

"Call me Lord Malfoy," Lucius Malfoy whispered back, panting already from their playing as he sucked on her neck.

"Of course, my Lord Malfoy," Aleera complied huskily, rolling her eyes. Then, she flipped them over so that Malfoy was on his back in the queen-sized bed in Malfoy Manor, spread eagle, with Aleera kneeling between his legs, her chest pressed against his shirtless stomach. "Now, just lay back and relax... Let me take care of you like your wife never has..."

Malfoy's hands shot down to unzip his pants in a hurry, but Aleera stopped him, smirking.

"Ah, ah, ah, you know the rules, Lord Malfoy..." she chided, like a mother scolding her child. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll do what you want me to do."

Aleera unzipped Malfoy's pants agonizingly slowly, wanting to take a look at what he pack inside them. She was... disappointed... His size, coupled with his impatience and lack of concern for her own pleasure, was enough to convince her that this would be a very disappointing experience, and to Aleera, there was nothing she hated more than disappointing intercourse.

Sighing, Aleera sat up, a disappointed look on her face, making Malfoy blink in confusion.

"Hey, why did you stop?" he demanded angrily. "I shall tell you what you want to know."

"Yes, you will, but it won't be as pleasant as you might have thought it would," Aleera said with a smirk as she hopped up, landing sitting on Malfoy's stomach, her hands on his chest. "You see, even a girl like me has standards, and I can tell why your wife would seek pleasure elsewhere."

"How dare you-" Malfoy started, but Aleera interrupted him.

"Quiet, darling," she whispered, locking eyes with Malfoy and putting him under her hypnotic power. His eyes unfocused and became glazed. "Now, you are going to tell me everything I want to know, understand?"

"I understand..." Malfoy mumbled.

Throughout the entire interrogation, Aleera was actually holding back tears of frustration. This was a mistake she tended to make too often for her tastes. She would buy into men's boasting regarding their sexual prowess. She'd get herself all worked up, and when the men disappointed her, she just felt like crying.

But she took comfort in something this time. This time, she was disappointed during a mission, a mission that would be completed successfully. As such, when she reported back to the Master, she would be able to ask for a reward. As his mother figure, she could have tried ordering him to scratch her itch, but the Master had long since become the dominant one in bed.

Aleera shivered in anticipation of the reward that would be waiting for her...

–

These last two weeks had been incredibly frustrating for Eric Potter. He enjoyed attention, that he did, but he didn't want attention for being entered into the Triwizard Tournament. Sure, he had fantasized about competing, but he had never actually planning on doing it!

So now, the whole school, save for the Gryffindors, hated him for 'entering' the tournament! It was very annoying, he had to admit. He had never been on the receiving end of the school's hatred before. People had always loved him. When he came to Hogwarts when he was eleven, he was looked at like a savior coming back from an extended holiday. When he managed to hold off Quirrel long enough for Dumbledore to arrive and save the day, he was even more revered.

Second year, he, through sheer dumb luck, managed to somehow slay a basilisk and defeat Tom Riddle's diary. And yes, it was sheer... dumb... luck... He didn't even speak Parseltongue. He had just guessed that the Heir of Slytherin was one, located the strange tap in Myrtle's bathroom, and just started making hissing noises at it. Finally, after ten minutes, he managed to produce a sound that apparently sounded like Parseltongue, as the tap revealed a pipe leading down to the Chamber of Secrets.

Third year, he was still riding on the fame and admiration given to him after saving Ginny Weasley and defeating the basilisk.

And now... seventy-five percent of the school hated him... It was horrible...

And not only that, but his brother, who they had learned was the new Count Dracula, heir to the most infamous vampire to have ever lived, had made some kind of deal with Dumbledore to help against Voldemort should he return to full power, and had moved to the old Wallace lands next to Hogwarts!

Honestly, it was almost too much for Eric Potter to deal with, especially now that his best friend Ron had betrayed him, believing him to have entered himself into the tournament without telling him. Bloody git!

"That Transfiguration classroom over there!" Colin Creevey said excitedly as he pointed at a classroom door at the end of the corridor. "I can't follow. I'm not allowed."

"You can't go to the end of the corridor?" Eric asked in surprise.

"Nope!" Colin said happily. He waved at Eric. "Bye, Eric! Good luck!"

With that, Colin walked off, humming happily to himself, leaving a blinking Eric behind.

Were they that crazy about not having any eavesdroppers that the students couldn't even walk the same corridor as the one where the Weighing of the Wands took place?

"They did not decree that he could not walk this corridor," came a cold voice speaking with a Romanian accent from his right, a voice Eric recognized immediately.

Through the door to another classroom walked none other than Harold Dracula, formerly Harry James Potter, a smirk on his face as he stared at Eric, who gulped.

"Eric Potter... the Boy-Who-Lived..." the Count spoke with a mocking tone of voice.

"Har-" Eric stopped himself from saying Harry. "Harold..."

"Eric," Harold said coldly, still smirking at Eric, who gulped. "How have you been?"

"Lonely, what with not having a brother around," Eric said, gathering his wits. He wasn't about to let Harold talk down on him as he'd heard him to do Dumbledore. They were brothers, so teasing was allowed, but he wasn't going to let Harold insult him.

"You can thank our loving parents for that," Harold said simply.

"They didn't make the decision to have you run away."

"Run away," Harold repeated with a cold chuckle. "I suppose that is one way to look at it. I prefer 'leaving to fulfill my destiny.'"

"Which was?"

"Why, to take my place as the rightful owner of Castle Dracula, of course. Make no mistake, Eric, I despise our parents for how they ignored me, but my place was never among them. My place was in Castle Dracula, ruling over the vampire race as the heir of House Dracul."

"So, you're really not human anymore?" Eric asked sadly, only to get another cold chuckle from his brother.

"I never was, Eric. Our parents may think that I was once a human, but they were too blind to see the truth, even before you came along, before Voldemort came to our home to try to kill you. I was born a vampire."

"Then how come you never drank blood?"

"I did not come into my powers until I was around ten years old, and it was only then that my thirst surfaced," Harold informed him. Then, he changed the subject. "So, how does it feel to experience the ever changing opinion of the wizarding world? Hero one day, then a villain the next."

"Did you come here to poke fun at me?" Eric wanted to know.

"Despite what the public may have convinced you, you are not important enough for me to take time out of my busy schedule just to come poke fun at you," Harold said, straightening up. "I am here to watch the Weighing of the Wands."

"Ah... Well, I don't like it," Eric said grumpily. "Everyone's looking at me funny, and they think I entered myself, even though I've said hundreds of times that I didn't."

"_Asta-i viața. Rola cu pumni_," Harold said off-handedly with a shrug.

"What?"

"That's life. Roll with the punches," Harold clarified.

"Yeah, because that's exactly what you have done," Eric shot at Harold, who chuckled.

"Sharp tongue you have there, Eric," the Count spoke in amusement. "But believe me, I have rolled with the punches, and I will be coming out on top. In any case, do we not have somewhere to be?"

Eric's eyes widened, and he walked off, Harold following him.

They entered the classroom that Colin had pointed at, and found themselves in a fairly small classroom. Most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. Three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Eric had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes, but Eric noticed that Harold was looking at her with some interest visible in his eyes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Eric had seen her so far. She kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Eric, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Eric, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment, and- Oh..." Bagman's joyful look was quickly replaced with a sudden nervousness as his eyes landed on Harold, who gazed coldly back at him. "Ahem, right, er... Count Dracula..." he greeted lamely, gulping as he held out a hand. Harold didn't shake it. Slowly, Bagman pulled his hand back. "M-May I, hm, as what you're doing here, Count Dracula?"

"Merely observing," Harold said, his face incredibly serious, his eyes cold as ever as he stared intently into Bagman's eyes. "I trust I am not a bother?"

His tone promised untold amounts of pain if Bagman wouldn't give him the answer he wanted.

"O-Oh! Heh, not at all, Count Dracula! Not at all! Make yourself at home!"

"Thank you," Harold said with a small smirk as he nodded to Eric, before walking off toward Fleur and Cedric. Cedric jumped when he saw Harold, who was looking only at Fleur. She turned to look at whatever Cedric had spotted, and a blush immediately appeared on her beautiful face.

"Draga mea," Harold said softly as he took her hand in his, bringing it up and planting a kiss on her knuckles. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I am Count Harold Dracula of House Dracul."

"Fleur," the girl introduced, clearing her throat to gather herself as she straightened up and raised her head high, tossing her hair. "Fleur Isabelle Delacour."

"The beautiful flower of the court," Harold roughly translated her full name, his smirk widening. "How fitting a name for you."

Fleur opened her mouth to speak, but just then, another voice was heard.

"Count Dracula?"

Harold turned his head to gaze upon the magenta-robed witch, who he immediately recognized as Rita Skeeter, thanks to her hair set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls and her heavy-jawed face, along with her jeweled spectacles.

"Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet," the woman introduced herself, holding out one of her mannish, scarlet-taloned hands for Harold to shake. Harold didn't take it, just staring at her disdainfully for interrupting them. "I was wondering if I could have a few words? Your appearance in this country is big news, and an interview would be great."

"Later. I am busy," Harold said, looking back to Fleur. He opened his mouth to speak, but Skeeter interrupted him before he could say a word.

"Come now, Count Dracula, it will only take a moment."

"I said," Harold hissed out, turning to glare into Skeeter's eyes, "_later_."

Skeeter's eyes, like Fudge's, became glazed and unfocused.

"Later..." she parroted numbly as she turned around and walked back to Bagman.

"Now, as I was saying, you have a beautiful name, draga mea," Harold said now that they were alone again. Cedric had moved as far away as possible from Harold the second he had started speaking to Fleur.

"Le Comte Dracula," Fleur said, having obviously regained her composure. "You are not ze first to compliment me on my name. You are going to 'ave to try 'arder if you wish to sweep me off my feet."

Harold chuckled softly.

"You are a part-veela, are you not?" he asked, making Fleur raise an eyebrow.

"'Ow did you know? I know zat vampires are not affected by ze veela allure."

"Your scent," Harold said, leaning closer and sniffing her neck, taking great pride in seeing her blush faintly. "I will never forget the scent of a veela. It is a most intoxicating scent, I must admit. And the taste is equally intoxicating," he admitted as he leaned back again, to which Fleur sniffed.

"Well, I am afraid, le Comte Dracula, zat you will not be sampling my blood."

Harold's smirk remained on his face.

"Whoever said I was talking about your blood?"

Fleur seemed to quickly understand what he was hinting at, and a furious blush sprang up on her face. Harold had to admit, for a part-veela, she was incredibly innocent. Without a doubt, she had been raised outside the French veela coven. She recovered quickly, however, and tossed her hair again.

"You say zat, but I know your type."

"And what type might that be, draga mea?"

"You talk big, but you are in actuality a timid, innocent little boy 'oo 'as no experience wiz women, so you compensate for zis by acting like you are some big Casanova."

Harold chuckled softly again.

"I am a vampire, draga mea, heir to House Dracul. We are very sexual creatures. I have had four mistresses since I was ten years old. One since I was eight."

Fleur's eyes widened in obvious surprise, while Harold just smirked at her. She looked about to claim that he was lying, but just then the door to the classroom opened, and in stepped Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, Dumbledore, and some frail-looking old man with gray hair and silvery eyes. Four of the five judges sat down, Dumbledore still standing with the other old man, the champions went over and sat down in chairs near the door, and Rita Skeeter settled herself in a corner, while Harold just leaned back against the wall, watching the proceedings.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore said, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Harold stared intently at the old man. So, this was Garrick Ollivander, the wand-maker... The man's fame when it came to making wands had reached even Harold in Romania.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" Mr. Ollivander said, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Ollivander spent some time checking each champion's wand, after which it came time for photographs. When that was finally done, and the champions were sent down to have dinner, Harold approached Dumbledore.

"We need to talk," he told the old man with an unusually serious look on his face. Seeing how serious he was, Dumbledore immediately nodded and led Harold to his office.

Once there, Dumbledore sat down behind his desk, while Harold showed an impressive display of wandless magic by transfiguring one of the chairs in front of it into a very comfortable-looking armchair.

"How unusual, for you to meet with me without taunting me," Dumbledore commented lightly.

"I think you would want these news as fast as possible, Dumbledore, hopping right past the banter," Harold said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"It must be important, then."

"It is," Harold agreed with a nod. "You see, I have been busy these last two weeks. Most vampires are honor-bound to fall in line behind me when I call for them, and I have been across the world seeking out vampire covens."

"I take it that your quest was not very successful?"

"Oh, it was very successful, I managed to sway about half the world's vampire population to my side."

"I had heard that the vampires' neutrality was legendary, but I did not know that they were so insistent on being neutral that they would ignore an order from the House of Dracul," Dumbledore spoke with interest. He had never actually met any of the vampire leaders in person, but they must have been very adamant to refuse Harold.

"You speak as though they are neutral," Harold said, smirking in amusement. "So quick to jump to conclusions."

"I thought you said we would skip the banter?"

"Of course," Harold conceded, nodding. "In any case, the rest of the vampire population refused to obey me simply because they have another Master, and will follow that Master to whatever end."

That made Dumbledore's eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh my... This new Master must be very powerful, to manage to earn the loyalty of so many," he admitted. "Did you happen to get the identity of this new Master?"

"I did. It is actually an old friend of mine. Someone who, like me, is a true pureblood vampire."

"Who is it?" Dumbledore asked, getting the feeling that Harold was enjoying keeping Dumbledore in suspense.

"Tell me, Dumbledore..." Harold said, the smirk on his face widening as his eyes seemed to glint with joy. "Have you ever heard of the Countess Elizabeth Báthory?"

–

Dumbledore stood by his office window, staring at Castle Dracula in the distance. Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed... The Countess from the former Kingdom of Hungary, who, following her husband's death, tortured and killed over six hundred people... The woman who was rumored to bathe in the blood of virgins... The woman who was probably the second most dangerous vampire in the world, second only to Vlad the Impaler...

Dumbledore was very fascinated with the supernatural in his youth, from the time before magic was incorporated into the various diseases, such as vampirism and lycanthropy, and during his studies into the vampire, he stumbled upon two names who clearly stood out to him.

First was, of course, Vlad III Dracula, also known as Vlad the Impaler, a three-time Voivode of Wallachia, ruling mainly from Fourteen fifty-six to Fourteen sixty-two, the period of the incipient Ottoman conquest of the Balkans. His father, Vlad II Dracul, was a member of the Order of the Dragon, which was founded to protect Christianity in Eastern Europe. Vlad III was revered as a hero in Bulgaria as well for his protection of the Bulgarian population both south and north of the Danube. A significant number of Bulgarian common folk and remaining boyars (nobles) moved north of the Danube, recognized his leadership and became part of Wallachia, following his raids on the Ottomans.

Vlad III spent much of his rule campaigning against the Ottoman Empire and its expansion. As the cognomen 'The Impaler' suggested, his practice of impaling his enemies was central to his historical reputation. During his lifetime, his reputation for excessive cruelty spread abroad, to Germany and elsewhere in Europe. The total number of his victims was estimated in the tens of thousands. The name of the vampire Count Dracula in Bram Stoker's 1897 novel Dracula was inspired by Vlad's patronymic.

That was the Muggle story of Vlad III Dracula. Dumbledore knew better than that. He had conducted a thorough study of Vlad the Impaler. Vlad, taking the mantle of Count Dracula, at some point early in his career, started drinking the blood of his enemies. The habit of doing this changed him, though for the life of him, Dumbledore couldn't figure out just how it changed him. He became a vampire, one of the first vampires to have ever existed, and he, contrary to popular belief, made no attempts to hide what he was.

The second vampire to catch his eye was, of course, Countess Elizabeth Báthory. Dumbledore's eye narrowed as he moved away from the window, walking over to his bookcase in his office and running his finger along the spines of the books on the top shelf. Finally finding an old, tattered journal, he took it out and moved back to his desk, sitting down and opening the journal, flipping to a certain page.

_Here occurs the shocking and frightening history of the wild berserker, Count Vlad III Dracula, how he impaled people and roasted them, boiled their heads in a kettle, how he skinned them alive and hacked them to pieces and then drank their blood. The story of the Impaler starts..._

Dumbledore shook his head. It wasn't Dracula he wanted to read up on right now. It was someone else. Therefore, he started flipping through the pages, until he came upon the start of the history of the one he wanted to know about.

_Herein lies the bloody and fascinating history of Countess Elizabeth (Erzsébet in Hungarian) Báthory de Ecsed, known these days as the Blood Countess. Forever will she enjoy a reputation of bathing in the blood of virgins to retain her youth, and heinously torturing and killing hundreds of victims._

_Between the years Sixteen oh-two and Sixteen oh-four, following the death of the Bloody Countess' husband, Lutheran minister István Magyari complained about atrocities both publicly and with the court in Vienna, after rumors had spread. The Hungarian authorities took some time to respond to Magyari's complaints. Finally, in Sixteen ten, King Matthias II assigned György Thurzó, the Palatine of Hungary, to investigate. Thurzó ordered two notaries to collect evidence in March Sixteen ten. In Sixteen ten and eleven, the notaries collected testimony from more than three hundred witnesses. The trial records include the testimony of the four defendants, as well as thirteen witnesses. Priests, noblemen and commoners were questioned. Witnesses included the castellan and other personnel of Sárvár castle._

_According to all this testimony, the Countess' initial victims were the adolescent daughters of local peasants, many of whom were lured to Csejte by offers of well-paid work as maidservants in the castle. Later, she is said to have begun to kill daughters of the lesser gentry, who were sent to her gynaeceum by their parents to learn courtly etiquette. Abductions were said to have occurred as well. The atrocities described most consistently included severe beatings, burning or mutilation of hands, biting the flesh off the faces, arms and other body parts, freezing or starving to death and sexual abuse._

_The exact number of young women tortured and killed by Elizabeth Báthory during her human years is unknown, though it is often speculated to be as high as six hundred and fifty, between the years Fifteen hundred and eighty-five and Sixteen ten. The estimates differ greatly. During the trial and before their execution, Szentes and Ficko reported thirty-six and thirty-seven respectively, during their periods of service. The other defendants estimated a number of fifty or higher. Many Sárvár castle personnel estimated the number of bodies removed from the castle at between one hundred to two hundred. One witness who spoke at the trial mentioned a book in which a total of over six hundred and fifty victims was supposed to have been listed by Báthory._

_Although the Countess was arrested, convicted, and sentenced to house arrest, life imprisonment, and immurement, locked in Csejte, and was reported to have died four years after her sentence, no body could be found. The whole thing was covered up, and it was reported that Báthory had died. The Muggles were completely baffled by Báthory's disappearance, but the magical world continued following her life as a vampire, a condition she had achieved during her countless bloodbaths, during which she was reported to also have ingested the blood she bathed in._

_Up until Nineteen forty-five, the Bloody Countess continued her killing spree and bloodbaths, earning a considerable reputation amongst the race of magical vampires that had started appearing throughout the world in the late nineteenth century. With the final death of the many times resurrected Count Dracula, it was assumed that Báthory felt a bit threatened, as the killings started lessening after his death at the hands of Jonathan Morris in Nineteen forty-four._

_Since then, Báthory has faded into the shadows. It is impossible to manage to tell Báthory's work from the many disappearances throughout the world in this day and age._

Dumbledore closed the book, gazing down at it in thought. He was very glad now that he had recruited Harold to his side, for if Voldemort resurrected, and he managed to recruit the Bloody Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed, then the Light would be facing a tremendous challenge.

Harold had seemed excited at the possibility of running into Báthory. He had said that she was an old friend of his, and given her status as one of the first, pure vampires, it wasn't all that surprising that he might want to see her. Hopefully, though, he only wanted to see her for the chance of battling her.

Dumbledore sighed to himself, taking off his half-moon spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So much darkness is on the rise... Can we hold back the coming storm?"

Fawkes, who had left the second Harold entered the office, had returned while Dumbledore was reading, and gave a musical trill in response.

–

**Well, there you have it, chapter three! What do you all think?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi, all! ZenoNoKyuubi here with a new chapter for you! Now that FFN is working again, I've reuploaded this chapter.**

**Now, a few words before we start. The thing you have to understand about this story is that there will be a lot of alliances in this fic, both public and secret, and a lot of people will make alliances with the people their allies are fighting against, so many will be fighting for both sides, working everything to their own favor. There will be betrayal after betrayal in this.**

**Well, enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review on your way out!**

–

Csejte Castle, a castle ruin in Slovakia, was known for two things: the rare plants that grew on the hillside, causing it to be declared a national nature reserve, and, most famously, for being the former home of the most prolific female serial killer in history, Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed.

The Muggle population believed Báthory to have died there, and the magical population believed her to have left the place. None of them knew the truth. Only a select few people knew the truth, only those told by the Countess herself.

Count Harold Dracula was one of those select few people.

Unknown to the rest of the world, there were three floors built underneath Csejte Castle, in which Countess Elizabeth Báthory lived. Those three floors were as heavily warded, if not more so, as Hogwarts, even hidden away by a Fidelius Charm. However, there weren't many wards that could keep out the new Prince of Darkness.

The first thing that hit Harold as he descended the stairs to the third floor underneath the castle was the smell. That intoxicating smell of an overabundance of blood. He discovered why as he neared the bottom of the stairs.

The entire floor, which was one great big chamber, the ceiling held up by intricately carved stone pillars, depicting the twisted bodies of humans of both sexes, of all ages, their faces twisted in agony, was filled with blood. If Harold had stepped into the blood, he was sure it would have reached up to his knees. A pouring sound attracted his attention, and he noticed several faces carved into the walls, female faces, their mouths open, from which blood kept pouring.

In the very center of the room was a figure, from that distance covered in darkness. Harold's vampire eyes could see her as clear as day.

It was a woman, completely naked, who was dipping her hands into the blood, bringing them up to rub the essence of life onto her body. From her back was sprouted two blood red, demonic wings, and her messy, black hair that reached down to her lower back, was partly done up on the left side of the back of her head with piece of porcelain of the same color as her wings, which looked partly like the head of a crow, facing forward, and a demonic wing, facing back, with several balls strung together on the underside, from each of which hung drop-shaped pieces of porcelain.

The woman stopped what she was doing and raised her head, appearing to be sniffing the air. Then, a cold, feminine chuckle was heard.

"Aah, I vas vondering ven I maayt be getting a visit from you... Little Gróf..." the woman whispered in English, speaking with a heavy Hungarian accent. She turned around slowly on the spot, showing a youthful, very beautiful face, despite the immense mocking cruelty that could easily be read in it. Despite her being nobility, she had very little makeup on. Her lips had been lipsticked blood red, and the area around her eyes had been blackened to accentuate her vampire eyes of the same color.

"Countess Báthory," Harold greeted, a taunting smirk on his face, not letting her get to him by using the nickname she had given him when they had last met, a nickname that irked him something fierce, meaning 'Little Count.' "It has been too long, has it not?"

"Zat it has," the Countess agreed as she started wading through the blood, making her way over toward Harold. "I must confess, I have missed you."

"Likewise, draga mea," Harold responded with a bow. "You look just as beautiful as you did seven years ago."

The Countess merely smirked as she reached him, making her way up the steps until she stood on the same one as Harold, who found that they now stood at a very different height than when they had last met. The last time, Harold hadn't even reached up past her pert C-cup breasts, but now, he stood almost half a head taller than her.

"Mhmm..." the Countess chuckled softly as she reached up, running a finger along Harold's jawline. "You groove up nicelee, Little Gróf. Come."

She started ascending the stairs, Harold following, noticing that her skin seemed to absorb the blood that still remained on her, leaving her clean and dry as she walked.

They reached the second floor and set off silently down the dark corridor, torches hanging from rusty brackets lighting up as soon as the Countess passed them. She led Harold through a door into another dark room, which was quite obviously a sitting room. Strangely, though, there was a dressing screen in the corner of the room. In the very middle of it was a low, black table, with a black leather sofa on either side of it.

"Vood you be a deeir and pour us a drink?" the Countess asked as she moved over to the dressing screen, getting behind it, while Harold walked over to a liquor cabinet in the opposite corner. Opening it, he wasn't surprised to see a large collection of crystal bottles, filled with nothing but blood. He took down two wine glasses and grabbed one of the bottles, pulling the cork and sniffing the contents. Virgin's blood had a very distinct smell and taste, and most vampires found that blood to be the most delectable. Harold was no different, and neither was the Countess.

He poured them two glasses of blood and moved over to one of the sofas, sitting down as setting them down on the table as he crossed one leg over the other.

"I tink I can guess ze purpose of your visit," came the Countess' voice from behind the dressing screen. She came out, revealing herself to be wearing a long, flowing dress of the same blood red as the ornamental porcelain in her hair. It was strapless and low cut, revealing a considerable amount of cleavage. Harold also noticed that her wings were gone. "Vitout a daut, you have nao realized zat ze name Dracula does not command ze same loyalty as it once did?"

"You have been moving up in the world, I admit," Harold said as the Countess sat down in the opposite sofa, both of them grabbing their glasses at the same time, slowly sipping the blood. "But you still have only remarked upon my discovery. You have yet to guess my purpose for being here, Countess."

The Countess gave a soft, melodious laugh. To one who didn't know her, with that laugh she could have convinced them that she was a perfectly innocent, kind-hearted woman, but Harold knew better. He had seen the cruelty this woman possessed with her treatment of the quadruplets.

"Forgive me, I merely vished to take ze opportunity to gloat," she said with a cold smirk. "It has alvais been my ambition to become grayter zan your ancestor, and knaoing zat roughly half ze vampire population anseers to me, veil... it makes me all tingly inside."

"Countess," Harold urged slowly.

"Oh yes, my guess... Veil, like I sed, you have probably noticed zat I have ze allegiance of half ze vampire population. And so, you have no daut come here to convince me to help you aid zat vrinkly old man in zis coming var against ze man hoo calls himself Lord Voldemort?" the Countess guessed, raising an elegant eyebrow. "Veil, I vill tell you nao, I vill be no vizard's pet. I am, quite frankly, appalled zat you would loover yourself to such a position."

"You speak as though I am the pet, and not him," Harold said with a smirk. "I have no intention of helping Dumbledore. I merely wish to see the warlike days of the past return. Perhaps recruit a couple of generals along the way."

"So, you are merely playing a faitful dog?"

"In essence."

"Zen vy did you come here? As much as I am confident in my beauty, you are not ze type of person to come here just for zat."

"I came here, because I want you to do the same."

"You vish for me to play Dumbledore's faitful dog?" the Countess asked in disbelief, chuckling softly. "I am sorry, Harold, but zat is not going to happen. I have too grait a reputation to convince anyone zat I am a faitful servant to ze Light."

"I am not stupid, Countess, so do not treat me as such," Harold said coldly. "I am aware that you could never pass as an agent for the Light. For the Dark, however..."

Harold trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The Countess sat in silence for a moment, before letting out an "Ah," of understanding. She thoughtfully sipped her blood, then set the glass down on the table.

"So, you vant me to accept if Voldemort comes recrooting?"

"That I do. I want to suggest an alliance between our Houses," Harold said, smirking. "The humans, they believe us to be inferior, like animals that they can control and order around however they wish," he said, scoffing in contempt. "My plan is to allow them to think that. In the meantime, I will be gathering possible fledglings, and I will be finding out every dirty little secret they have, and I will use them to my advantage. First, I will ruin their names, then I shall ruin them financially, and when they are humiliated, broken, and alone, I will, if I am feeling merciful, end their lives."

"And vat would you accomplish by having me jooin with Voldemort?" the Countess wanted to know, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. "And for zat matter, and much more importantly, vat vood I gain from such an alliance?"

"First, if you side with Voldemort, the Light will have no choice but to keep me around. As it is now, there is a chance they might think I am too dangerous, and may try to kill me. They would, of course, fail, but it would be an unwanted annoyance," Harold said, downing the rest of his blood and setting the glass down on the table. "Second, if you were to follow Voldemort, you would no longer have to stay hidden in the shadows. You can kill whoever you want, under the pretense of acting under Voldemort's orders. Third, you will be able to manipulate him, if you are skilled enough, and pit him against the Light in a manner that will weaken both sides. In essence, you will be the Dark side's puppet master, and I will be the puppet master of the Light."

"And ze end results?" the Countess asked curiously.

"The end result? A vampire-dominated world. The only ones right now who could possibly even offer us a challenge are two, formerly three, people. That is Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. They are pathetic humans, but make no mistake. They are strong. Once they are out of the picture, the vampires can come out of the shadows. We will turn the humans into nothing but cattle, and we will rule supreme."

"Zat is a nice dreem, I will admit. Haoever, it cannot be made reeahlity."

"And why not?"

"I do not kno' if you have heerd, Little Gróf, but ze humans... zey have upgraded zeir weepons. Zey nao have nuclair weapons that can annihilate half a coontry. Do you truly believe zat vee can contend vit zat?"

"You seem to forget, Countess, about the power of magic. It is incredibly easy. We will find all the nuclear weapons, Apparate to them, steal them, and hide them. If the humans cannot find their weapons, they cannot use them."

"Agehn, it is a nice dreem. But I cannot see it happening."

"My dear Countess, have you so little faith?" Harold asked, smirking again at the Countess. "This plan will work. I have spent the last ten years working on and refining it."

The Countess once more went quiet as she picked up her glass of blood and finished it. Then, she rose from the sofa and made her way around the table, to sit down on Harold's right side, setting her empty glass down next to his.

"Zere is one ting you forgot to take into accoont, Little Gróf."

"And that is?" Harold inquired, his eyebrow slowly rising curiously.

"If vee are to act like enemies, do you not tink it vood be suspishoos if vee avooid conflict vit eech ozzer?"

"But we won't avoid conflict with each other. No, our servants will do battle like good little boys and girls, with every appearance of being enemies. It is merely you and I who will avoid direct conflict with each other."

The Countess once more laughed softly. Her leg crossed over the other, and her right arm snaked its way around Harold's shoulders as she leaned closer, pressing her body against him.

"I still tink it is a foolish dreem, but very veil. I accept."

This made Harold look at her curiously, with no small amount of surprise evident on his face.

"That was fast. I thought it would take longer to convince you."

"Veil, laaife has not been ze same after your ancestor was slain. I foond myself tinking, 'If zere is a hunter out zere strong enough to slay Dracula, zen perhaps zere is someone out zere strong enough to slay me?' So, I vent undergraund, as you've seen. My servants still bring me food, but it is novair neer as fun as hunting for myself."

"On a related topic, I could not help but notice that the blood you bathed in was absorbed through your skin," Harold said conversationally. "How can you do that?"

The Countess answered with another musical laugh. Harold felt the skin of the forearm rested against his right shoulder changing. It seemed to harden, and became rough and coarse. He looked to his right to see that the Countess' arm from the elbow and down had changed. It looked like it was now covered with coarse, blood red plating, which stretched all the way down to the second knuckles on her fingers, where the plating became very smooth, her fingers extending into half-foot-long claws. One of the claws gently dragged across Harold's cheek, and he looked back to the Countess to see her smirking.

"Vee all receeved our own speshahl little gifts ven vee embraced our vampiric side," she admitted as her arm changed back, once more looking human. "One of ze gifts I got vas ze ability to absorb blood trough my pores. I do not _need_ to drink blood, but I find in delectable nonezeless."

"An interesting ability," Harold admitted, nodding.

"Veil zen, shall vee, as zey say, seel ze deel?" the Countess asked as she stood up, pulling Harold to his feet. The nail on her left index finger grew into a claw, and she placed a cut along the palm of her right hand, holding it out for Harold to shake.

"_Mi zárjuk ezt a paktumot a vérünket_," she announced, smirking.

Harold nodded and mimicked the action, cutting his own palm and shaking the Countess' hand.

"_Am sigila acest pact cu sângele nostru_," he mimicked her statement of 'We seal this pact with our blood,' only speaking Romanian instead of Hungarian.

Now that their alliance was sealed in blood, Harold turned the Countess' hand while still holding it and leaned down, planting a kiss on her knuckles.

"With that, I take my leave. I will see you again soon, Countess."

"Come back venever you vish, Dracula Gróf," the Countess said with a sultry smirk as Harold straightened up and left the room.

Once she was alone, the Countess chuckled to herself, picking up her empty glass and walking over to the liquor cabinet to refill it.

"_Silly Little Count_," she spoke in Hungarian, a cruel smirk appearing on her face. "_If you truly expect me to share a position of power with you, you are much dumber than your ancestor_."

She smiled to herself as she grabbed one of the blood-filled crystal bottles and refilled her glass. She picked it up and sipped it slowly.

"_I must admit, however, that this presents me with an incredible opportunity_," she admitted to herself, then turned toward the door to stare at it, her tongue slowly running along her lips. "_And he did grow up to be very handsome_."

–

"Master," Verona greeted with a bow as Harold walked into his throne room, finding all four quadruplets standing there, two on either side of the red carpet leading up to the throne. "I trust your visit to the Countess went well?"

"Exceedingly so," Harold admitted as he walked up to his throne, sitting down on it and sinking back into the shadows. "Aleera, what do you have for me?"

"There is quite a lot of intrigue and deception going on in the pureblood wizard society, my Master," Aleera said, with that same lustful voice he had gotten used to a long time ago, sounding as though she wanted nothing more than to take him to bed. "Most, but not all, of it involves the Malfoy family. It would appear as though they are in the very center of it."

"So, you have gone back to Lucius to find out more?" Harold wanted to know, considering she hadn't chosen to reveal this information two weeks ago the first time she came back from a visit to Malfoy Manor.

"I have, Master. Although I am disappointed to say that he was still the same man he had been the last time I saw him, and I did not get to indulge in my hobby, he still proved a valuable source of information. It would seem as though the Malfoy family is in the very center of what goes on in the pureblood society. Lucius Malfoy makes plans for everything. He finds out every family's dirty little secrets, and writes them all down, locking the journal in the safe under the drawing room floor, together with the evidence supporting his findings."

"And?"

"And, I managed to convince him to relinquish it all to me. I also added a command in his subconscious to ignore the fact that the journal and evidence are missing in case he ever looks into the safe."

"But I doubt that is all you have found out?"

"Of course, Master," Aleera said, bowing with a smirk. "I have also found out some little secrets when it comes to the son, Draco Malfoy, and the wife, Narcissa Malfoy. The son is a homosexual, something that the purebloods consider to be unforgivable. He hides it very well, but I have managed to get a hold of some evidence supporting this. And not only that, but Narcissa Malfoy is having affairs with no less than five different men, all of them Lords of their respective Houses. These men are Lord Parkinson, Lord Greengrass, Lord Nott, Lord Crabbe, and Lord Goyle. Lucius Malfoy does not know, and neither does the wives of said Lords."

"How interesting... So, we have a considerable amount of leverage on all of them..." Harold said slowly, putting a hand on his chin as he started thinking. Hundreds of possibilities swam through his mind, all of them plans for how to milk this information for all its worth. "You have done well, Aleera."

"Do I get a reward, Master?" Aleera asked, her smirk turning incredibly sultry as she puffed her chest out while running a hand up her thigh.

"You will. Go to the master bedroom and wait for me there."

Aleera practically danced her way out of the throne room.

"Anything else to report?"

"Master, I haveth a question," Marishka spoke up softly. "With the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament coming up, I wonder if thou wouldst wish to arrange an... _accident_ for thy brother?"

"Quite on the contrary, Marishka, I want him to win," Harold said with a smirk. Seeing the three remaining quadruplets looking at him in surprise, his smirk widened. "If Eric does not win, Voldemort cannot go through with his plan. And if Voldemort does not regain his body, then there will not be a war. Without a war, Dumbledore will see no reason to keep me around, and would no doubt merely be suspicious of me."

"But, surely, we can arrange for his resurrection without using Eric Potter, Master?" Eleesia asked curiously.

"Do not question me, Eleesia," Harold said, his smirk disappearing. "I have my own reasons for wishing to keep Eric alive at present, and it does not concern you."

"Of course, Master. My deepest apologies," Eleesia said immediately, bowing her head to Harold.

–

Fleur Delacour sat on the bed in her room in the Beauxbatons carriage, waiting. Madame Maxime had decreed that if they were chosen as the Beauxbatons champion, that student would be the one to get the extra bedroom, while the rest of the students slept in the other two rooms, and Madame Maxime slept in the fourth.

Sometimes, Fleur regretted having been chosen as a champion, because when she sat alone like this, she started thinking, and the only thing plaguing her thoughts at present was that flirtatious Count Dracula! It was so frustrating, and so humiliating, how he had managed to make her blush!

But at the same time, the man intrigued her. He was a Dracula, a vampire, the heir to Vlad III Dracula. Oh, Fleur knew about Dracula. After all, who didn't? Not only was he probably strong thanks to that, but he was also completely immune to her veela allure, something she didn't find often. She had met vampires before, and most of the young ones were unable to resist the allure.

There was a knock upon the door, and at Fleur's urging, it opened, and a woman stepped inside. Although Fleur's grandmother, Isabelle Descoteaux, was in her mid-seventies, she looked like she was in her late forties, looking very beautiful still. She had the same kind of silvery-blond hair as Fleur, and carried herself with grace as she practically glided into the room.

"_Grandmother!_" Fleur greeted happily as she walked over to Isabelle, kissing her once on each cheek. "_It is so good to see you. Thank you for coming on such short notice._"

"_I do not have much else to do these days, I fear, so I was happy to come,_" Isabelle said with a graceful smile on her face. Although most veela tended to look down on part-veela, Isabelle had, as far as Fleur could see, never had anything against Fleur or Gabrielle, judging by how she coddled and spoiled them. "_I understand from your letter that you have met someone interesting?_"

"_That I have. Grandmother, he managed to completely resist my allure, even when I focused it on him,_" Fleur informed her grandmother, whose eyes widened, and a pleased smile appeared on her face.

"_Well, there is something you do not see every day. He might be a keeper, Fleur. The number of men I have met in my life capable of resisting focused veela allure can be counted on two hands. That is usually the sign of either a powerful mind, powerful magic, or both. What is his name? Have I heard of him?_"

"_Count Harold Dracula,_" Fleur said, and Isabelle immediately tensed at that, her smile melting away.

"_Dracula, did you say?_"

"_Yes. What's wrong, grandmother?_" Fleur asked in confusion.

"_Fleur, I do not want you associating with him ever again. Did you not know? Vampires are one of the veela's greatest enemies! To associate with one, let alone befriend one or consider him to be a mate... It is unspeakable!_"

"_I hadn't exactly reached the point where I would consider him a mate, grandmother,_" Fleur said, blushing slightly, as when she said it, she immediately started imagining Count Dracula naked, and that in turn caused her to imagine the two of them having sex, which, she had to admit, was very sexy. "_But why, though? I mean, veela and vampires are very similar in nature, are we not?_"

"_I am not a fan of the rules of veela, Fleur, I want you to understand that, but I live by the rules, and I expect you to as well,_" Isabelle said adamantly. "_Said rules have been been in place for centuries, and never took into account the modern vampires of today. It started, initially, with Vlad III Dracula, also known as Vlad the Impaler. When he became the first ever known vampire, Count Dracula developed a taste in particular for veela. Apparently, our blood held some properties that made it a very potent aphrodisiac. He and his followers hunted us to near extinction during his years as a warlord. Then, he became a lot more reclusive, and we managed to recover from his onslaught._

"_Unfortunately, this was right around the time when Countess Elizabeth Báthory became a vampire as well. She too discovered the special properties of our blood, and not only drank it, but also bathed in it. Once more, we were hunted to near extinction, and this went on for a much longer time than during Dracula's hunt. After this, we learned that vampires cannot be trusted. Because our blood is not only a powerful aphrodisiac, but is also very addictive to a vampire. If they get but one taste, they crave more._

"_Following this, the veela made it a rule not to associate with vampires, for the sake of both sides. For the veela, it would spare them the pain of being hunted, while at the same time sparing the vampire the addiction. Besides, most vampires, especially pureblooded, demonic vampires such as Count Dracula and Countess Báthory are immune to our greatest weapon. Therefore, I want you to avoid the Count at all costs._"

"_But he is not the original Count Dracula,_" Fleur argued. "_What if he's different?_"

"_It matters not if he is different, Fleur. These are the rules of a veela. Who are you to challenge them?_" Isabelle said, appearing offended that Fleur would even consider the possibility of breaking the rules. "_We have lived by these rules for centuries, and will continue to do so for centuries to come. That is the way of it. Besides, vampires cannot be trusted. They are deceitful creatures of the night. They make a deal with you, then make another deal with someone else to stab you in the back. Secrets and lies, they are the very embodiment of it. You cannot believe a word they tell you._"

Even long after Isabelle had forced Fleur to promise to stay away from Count Dracula, and left to go back to France, Fleur still couldn't help but ponder how wise it had been to set up those rules. Just because two vampires felt that veela blood was delicious, that didn't necessarily mean that it was frightfully addictive. And just because the original Count Dracula and Countess Báthory (Fleur guessed there was a lot more to the story than Isabelle had disclosed) had been very secretive and deceitful, that didn't have to mean that the current Count Dracula was the same.

Despite her promise to her beloved grandmother, Fleur decided that she would find out more about the flirtatious vampire.

–

**Well, there you have it, chapter four! What do you all think?**


End file.
